


Impulsive Interest

by Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Biting, Casual Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Rough Sex, Shovel Talk, Spanking, Strength Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-25 05:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Slade makes a habit of keeping track of his children, at least in regard to the important things, and while he's checking up on Rose he learns something interesting. That she, at some point in the not-so-distant past, had something of a short relationship with one of the Bats. That, at the least, deserves a personal visit from him, just to make sure this Bat knows exactly what he's signed up for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, this is going to have two chapters, the second incoming shortly. This happened because in a recent Deathstroke comic, Slade is... sleeping with Joey's soon-to-be wife? It's a weird thing, but it did bring up the entertaining thought between a friend and I that what if Slade slept with _all_ of his kid's significant others? And then the inevitable, 'Well, Jason slept with Rose at some point.'
> 
> (If anyone is paying attention, yes this was a talk with Fire. It's a thing now.)
> 
>  
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

Slade makes a habit of keeping track of his children's lives. Not out of anything so simple as jealousy, but he likes to know exactly who they spend their time around. Or with. After all, he has so little involvement with their lives in any other way that the least he can do is make sure the people they choose to sleep with are any good for them. (If they can't handle his attention, after all, they're certainly not going to be good enough to date any of his children.)

He's somewhat surprised to find out, after the fact, that Rose had some sort of a fling with one of the Bats. Not Grayson (her type has certainly never strayed that far towards 'good boy'), but the one that came after him.

Jason Todd; former Robin, current Red Hood. Vigilante mercenary, with an emphasis on the 'vigilante' half of it. Rougher than the rest of his family, and with some questionable past affiliations as well as a rather notable lack of any actual relationships to his name. Perhaps the closest would be the current on-and-off thing with his teammate, the princess Koriand'r, but Slade has his doubts that there's anything there beyond good fun and pleasure. Especially considering how she's also apparently enjoying the third member of their team; Oliver Queen's castoff, Roy Harper.

With a track record like that, there's no way that he can pass up tracking the boy down to have a small discussion with him. Not with his daughter having been involved.

Jason's simple enough to track, for a man of his skills. It takes a bit more time to wait for him to separate from his teammates and leave the private island, so he can be sure he doesn't have an angry Tamaranean bursting in to throw blazing power at him in the middle of his conversation. He could handle the three of them, but he prefers to confront his targets one on one when possible. Dealing with others tends to dilute the message.

The hotel room that Jason rents is a perfect staging area, and he watches from a distance, willing to wait, as the boy settles in. The day wears on as he works via a laptop; armor and weapons apparently stashed away in a duffel bag against the wall, the only breaks coming in the form of a short meal delivered by room service, and a few pauses to rise, stretch, and use the utilities. When he finally shuts the laptop down, and disappears into the bathroom with some clothes in one hand (actually shutting the door this time, where he didn't before), Slade moves in.

It's simple enough to gain access to the hotel room through the windowed balcony; the lock easy to flip and the door sliding open with barely a sound. He shuts and locks it again just as soundlessly, pulling the curtains to hide the room from the rest of the world before he steps further in. The light is already on so he leaves it that way, as he finds a spot against the wall to lean against that's hidden to the side of where the bathroom door will open. Jason will know something is wrong the moment he looks at the room, but that moment will give him more than enough time to catch the boy off guard.

The sound of the shower shuts off, and he listens idly to the sound of Jason moving around the bathroom, uncrossing his arms and allowing himself to crack his neck as he waits for the door to actually open.

When it does, Jason takes a step out, head lifting, and then freezes. He strikes.

His step alerts the young Bat, but not nearly fast enough to stop him from being slammed into the wall beside the door. Jason grunts at the impact, hands flattening against the wall to catch himself, and he grabs one and twists that arm behind the boy's back, craning his shoulder at a painful angle as he pushes a knee into the back of one muscled thigh. Not a perfect pin by any means, but enough of a deterrent to keep him still for a few moments.

A few moments is all he needs to murmur, "Hello, Hood. You and I have something to discuss."

He can hear how Jason's breath catches, and see how the fingers of his free hand curl against the wall. "Slade." His voice is a little strained, but not afraid. "Pretty sure I haven't fucked with any of your jobs recently; what's up?"

He presses his free hand to the shoulder that isn't twisted back. "My daughter. Rose."

"Ah, _fuck_ ," is the oh-so-eloquent response. "You coming after me because we were together or because we stopped? We did stop, by the way. That's not happening anymore."

He leans in a little more, lowering his head to speak against the back of Jason's neck as he points out, "If you had been cheating on my daughter with Koriand'r, you wouldn't be breathing anymore, boy. Trust that."

Jason shivers, and it isn't until he pulls away that there comes the question, "Then what's up with the ambush? Little late for the shovel talk, and I _didn't_ hurt her."

"I just like to take the measure of the people my children are interested in." He lifts his hand, pressing it to the back of Jason's head to push it against the wall, before he adds, "Get to know them a little bit, and make sure they know exactly what I expect."

"Which is?" is the slightly breathless question.

He twists Jason's arm another inch, gets a muttered curse and a scrape of nails down the wall. "That if you _do_ hurt her, or do anything but what she wants, you'll find a bullet in your skull. I will hunt you down, boy, and there won't be anyone that can protect you."

"Like I said, that's _done_." Jason takes a deeper breath, bracing against the twist of his shoulder. "It was never serious, Slade. Your daughter's a hell of a woman, but we were never right and we knew it. Now, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't break my arm, given that I haven't _done_ anything."

"Except my daughter?"

Jason chokes on a breath, jerking a bit, and then manages a rough, "Okay, I may not have even seen Rose in a long fucking time now but I can _guarantee_ she wouldn't want you scaring people away from sleeping with her. She's an adult, Slade; she can make her own damn choices. I'm not saying I was a _good_ one, but we were up front about all of it and what she does is not your damn business unless she wants it to be."

It's a good answer; an honest one. One that respects his daughter (and proves willingness to go up against even him; which is respectably brave considering who he is).

He eases his grips on Jason, allowing a deep, slightly relieved breath as his arm comes back to a more normal position. Then he leans back exactly enough to flip and _shove_ Jason back against the wall, this time facing him. There's a sharp exhale as the air is knocked out of him, before Jason's gaze lifts to rake across his currently bare face. There's a hard swallow, but Jason stays remarkably still as he curls both his hands into the fabric of the basic shirt he'd donned after the shower. Sleepwear, most probably; soft fabric.

"If it ever happens again," he says, keeping his voice low and calm, and his gaze intent on Jason's, "you should keep this in mind. You seem decent enough, kid, but that won't stop me killing you."

"It's not going to happen again," Jason argues, mouth curling into a small scowl. "Now unless you're going to actually _do_ something apart from hold me against a wall, I'd appreciate it if you _backed off_. It's been a long day and I've got a job to prep for, so if you don't mind—”

Jason pushes forward, and he allows about three inches before he cracks the boy back into the wall, drawing a grunt of pain. "You should remember what I am, boy." He lifts then, drawing the shirt tight against Jason's chest as he drags him up against the wall until his feet are dangling several inches above the floor. It's a bit of a strain — Jason is heavy muscle — but nothing he can't handle and well worth how Jason's eyes go wide for a moment.

There's a sharp gasp, an aborted swipe of a hand towards one of his wrists that's reeled back, and he gives a curling smirk. Jason's gaze flicks from his hands, to his arms, up to his face, and then something _interesting_ happens. Jason shudders, heartbeat picking up, breath speeding, and his expression isn't reading as _fear_.

Hm. Well, that's unexpected.

He maintains the hold, studying how Jason suddenly doesn't quite want to meet his eyes, how his mouth is curling in a defensive sneer, hands curling at his sides. Well, tastes do seem to run in the family, apparently. Grayson is a fan of powerful women, and no small amount of men as well. It's perhaps not so much a surprise that his little brother (who is _little_ in name only) might share that leaning.

"Bisexual, hm?" he comments, and the boy squirms against his hold, flushing a delightful color of red against the paleness of his cheeks.

Hands and feet press flat against the wall, buying Jason a bit of leverage to push off of, as if that will be enough to break the curl of his hands in the shirt. He can feel the pounding of the strong heart beneath his hand, feel the hitch in breathing as he presses a little harder and drags the boy up the wall another inch. Still not quite enough to stop him from glaring, even with the flush darkening and the torn attraction now clearly visible in his eyes.

"If you could put me down before we discuss what kind of sex I like, that'd be great."

He lets his lips curl a little more, but obliges. He drops Jason, letting him hit the floor with the same neat reflexes that define all the Bats, at least until he takes a half-step forward and traps him there. The boy inhales sharply, pressing back against the wall, as he presses a hand to his chest, hooking over his collarbone and up onto a shoulder. A moment of tension, a curl of fists, but then Jason lets the breath go and allows the touch. He studies that small surrender, letting his gaze slide along the line of the boy's throat and the tightness of his jaw. (And the slight uncertainty from having to look _up_. Not something Jason should be used to, given his height.)

"You're being remarkably docile for one of your kind," he points out, keeping his touch relatively light.

Jason swallows. "One of my kind?"

"Heroes, Bats, men my daughter is interested in… Take your pick of classification."

"Well, you haven't actually hurt me yet," is Jason's flippant answer, "and I'm not in the best position to be picking fights with Deathstroke. Might have the same good looks, but I haven't got the same grudge against you that wonder boy does. I can have a civil conversation for the sake of not getting my ass handed to me, if you would just stop _shoving_ me into walls."

"Fair," he grants. "And I suppose it has nothing to do with that lovely flush on your cheeks?"

Jason's breath catches a little bit, but it's followed by a scowl. "Alright, fine, I'm bisexual. Why the fuck does it matter? You homophobic? Think I'm more likely to cheat ‘cause I like both genders? I've never cheated on anyone, _thanks_ , and your daughter and I are _not together anymore._ Haven't been for a long time."

"Not what I was implying. It's an interestingly wide range though." He lets his thumb hook against Jason's collarbone, bunching the shirt beneath it. "My daughter, an alien princess, Talia al Ghul, and then this interesting reaction to me…” He shifts a bit closer, enough that one of his knees brushes the boy's thigh, nudging against it. "Or maybe it's a very small range, and you just like to be…” He pushes harder, forcing that thigh open against almost no resistance, and to the sound of a sharp inhalation. "Pushed around."

Jason goes very still as he presses his thigh inwards, pinning the boy to the wall in other ways. The thin, loose pair of sleeping pants is hardly any match for his armor. He lifts his other hand, letting his gloved knuckles graze along Jason's hairline, down to curl around the back of his neck. Jason is barely breathing, but his gaze is focused, and no resistance comes when he slides his thigh up against the boy's crotch. It does get him a sharp little gasp, and a small arch of his throat.

He leans down to take advantage of that, tightening his grip on Jason's neck as he pulls him up and into a kiss. It's a hard thing, and Jason comes to life underneath it, pushing forward, hands grabbing at his shoulders. It's not a hard enough grip for it to hurt, not through his armor, but it's a long way from gentle. So is how Jason pushes up against the thigh between his legs, hips rocking into it. He slides his free hand down, grabbing hold of one side of the kid's ass and forcing him into a complementary rhythm. At least until he breaks the kiss, and Jason's head twists to the side, eyes wide. He lets it still then, though he doesn't make any move to let go.

"Is this really happening?" Jason asks, slightly breathless but demanding.

"Do you want it to?" he counters, holding himself still. "I'll drop it if you're not interested, kid, but I happen to like competent, handsome young men. Especially so when they enjoy a bit of roughhousing, and with your history of partners, you clearly do."

"You think they were rough?"

He smiles, squeezing Jason's ass and enjoying the hitch of breath it causes. "I think you spent more time on your back than over them. One alien princess, one heir to the League of Assassins, and _my_ daughter? If you didn't enjoy being manhandled, you'd pick less in-command women, Jason."

A flush, a small scowl. "That's not— I'm not some pushover. They knew what they wanted, so I gave it; that's all."

"I didn't say you were weak, kid," he points out, as he lets go of Jason's neck and lowers that hand enough that he can, without warning, grab the other half of Jason's ass and _lift_. He gets a choked gasp, hands clenching down on his shoulders, and he pushes forward and pins Jason's back to the wall as muscled thighs clench down around his waist. He smirks, as Jason swears beneath his breath and squeezes his eyes shut for a second. "You don't have to be weak to enjoy someone else being stronger."

"How the fuck did this go from a shovel talk to you offering to _fuck_ me?" Jason asks, sounding maybe just a little overwhelmed.

"Well, I dragged you up a wall, and you _blushed_."

Jason glares at him. "I didn't _blush_. There's a difference between some— some coloring and a _blush_ , and—” Jason cuts off, sharply, and then hisses, "Oh, _fuck_ it," and surges forward. He meets the kiss, gentling it from a collision to something deeper, as Jason's hands slide from his shoulders up to either side of his head, fingers curling into his hair. It's Jason who eventually pulls back, eyes narrowed as he demands, "Just sex? No strings attached? You're not going to… I dunno, cuff me in the middle and spring a surprise bounty on me or something?"

He can't help but laugh, before he reassures, "No cuffs; you have my word. Unless that's something you want."

Jason snorts. "Yeah, I don't do restraints with strangers. And I sure as fuck don't do them with mercenaries; no offense."

"None taken." He turns his head, pressing his lips to one of Jason's wrists. "So, is that a 'yes'?"

There's a last moment of hesitation, and then Jason says, "Yeah. Yeah I guess it is." A sharp laugh bursts free, and Jason's fingers contract in his hair. "God, the family's gonna be _so_ pissed when they find out."

"You don't have to tell them," he points out, and Jason gives him a _look_.

"This is _my_ family, remember? They'll find out eventually, whether I tell them or not. I mean, they're not going to kill me for obvious reasons, but—” Jason's eyes widen a little bit, and then he mutters, "Oh _god_ , Rose _will_ kill me."

"She's more likely to try to kill me than you." It's a reasonable thing to point out, even though Jason doesn't look any more comforted even given that fact. Not that he necessarily should be, which means that Jason has the proper amount of respect for his daughter and her ability to kill those that cross her. Maybe the boy actually is a decent choice for her, if it ever comes back around to that. He'll keep a careful eye on it.

"You have a really sketchy version of being reassuring," Jason grumbles, glaring at him.

He smiles, and leans in to steal Jason's mouth for a moment. Jason tries to make it deeper, but he pulls away instead to offer, "Then how about I just help you forget instead?" The second kiss he allows to become deeper, sliding his tongue between lips and teeth to claim. Slower, unhurried, stealing air and drawing Jason's hips into an equally slow roll. His armor doesn't allow him to feel more than dull pressure, but Jason's thighs tighten against his waist, so it's certainly better from the other side.

Jason shivers again, taking in a shallow breath when he finally lets him free again. It takes another few moments before Jason remarks, "Can't say I've ever been with a guy that could pick me up; most people aren't strong enough to make me do anything physical unless I let them."

"The princess didn't fill that role?" he asks in turn, as he lowers his head to graze his lips across the side of Jason's throat.

He gets a hitch of breath before Jason answers, "Kori's strong, but she's not trained like I am. Brute strength, sure, she'll win every time, but she doesn't know how to fight like I do. Doesn't need to."

"That must have been frustrating." He grazes his lips across the sensitive skin beneath Jason's ear, grips the lobe lightly between his teeth before he releases it so he can murmur, "Have you been wanting someone who does, Jason? Someone who can _make_ you do things?" He presses a knee to the wall, supporting Jason's weight on it so he can ease his hands away as the boy sucks in a breath. "Someone to hold you down—” he wraps his fingers around Jason's wrists; tugs them free of his hair and pushes them against the wall "—and _take_ what they want?"

Jason shudders against him, wrists twisting beneath his grip. "You make that sound rapey as hell; you know that right?"

He chuckles, then lifts his head so he can look Jason in the eye, and see the desire there for himself. "Tell me 'stop,' and I will," he promises, with a smile. "Speak up if something needs to change. Otherwise, I'm going to assume that you're enjoying yourself, and I'm going to take exactly what I want from you." Jason's eyes have gone dark, jaw working in little circles as he stares. "Fight me as much as you want to, boy; I promise you, you won't win."

Jason watches him for several long breaths. "No restraints," is the sharp condition, "and no serious damage."

"As you wish," he agrees. "My own request: no weapons aside from our own bodies."

"Don't want me picking up one of your swords?" Jason teases, breath coming a little sharper now.

"Or knifing me in the ribs," is his addition. He rubs small circles into the skin of Jason's wrists with his still-gloved thumbs, and asks, "Do we have a deal?"

Jason holds his gaze, before giving a small nod. "Deal."

He smiles, lowers his voice to murmur a mocking, “Good boy.”

If he’d thought Jason was blushing hard before, the color that takes his cheeks now is truly monumental. “Oh, _bite_ me,” Jason snaps.

“Gladly.”

Jason jerks against his hold, thighs dropping off of his waist, as he leans in. He keeps the teeth he sinks into the side of the boy’s throat relatively gentle, but Jason still swears, hips bucking against the thigh between his that’s keeping him held high enough that he can’t get stable footing. He draws a strained groan before he lets the skin in his mouth go, though he does take a moment as he draws back to admire the reddening half circles his teeth have left behind.

"Are you going to take all my comments as fucking suggestions?" is the snarled question, and he smirks, keeping himself just far enough away that if Jason tries to bite him, he can react in time.

"If they're good ones. Why? Don't appreciate a bit of teeth?"

Jason squirms, wrists twisting against his grip, weight shifting over his thigh where those long legs just _barely_ reach the ground. "I didn't say that."

Glare or not, he can see the admission in that. He smiles, making sure to bare his teeth a little more this time, and fully appreciates how Jason's gaze flicks to them, the sight drawing a shallow breath from the kid. It's almost enough to distract him from the shift of weight that proceeds Jason's right leg coiling up in an effort to plant in his stomach and shove him away. Almost.

He pushes closer, molding them together and leaning his weight in, trapping the leg between them with no leverage to actually push before it can accomplish anything. There’s still pressure, but not enough to shove him away, not with the leg bent and the foot left without anything to brace against. It also leaves Jason balancing on the toes of a single foot, forced to trust the press of Slade’s thigh and body to support him against the wall. Not that he would let the kid fall ( _hard_ ), but by the way Jason squirms and spits another muttered curse, he was expecting to get a little further than that in his escape attempt.

He smothers a laugh into a small chuckle, before he braves teeth for the reward of taking Jason’s mouth again. He doesn’t get bitten, but he does get a low groan for it and another twist of the wrists beneath his fingers. Not that they’re going anywhere until he lets them. Not that _Jason_ is going anywhere until he lets him. Jason is certainly stronger than the vast majority of men, but he’s still just a normal human beneath the conditioning and training. Slade certainly isn’t; normal humans can't match up to him except in the most extreme circumstances.

When he pulls back he only does it far enough to break the kiss, staying in close enough quarters that he can feel Jason's breath against his chin, and so he takes up most of the world that the boy can see. Those blue-green eyes take a moment to open, as he appreciates the part of the reddened lips, and the lingering flush across strong cheekbones. The boy's not as pretty as Grayson is, but he's more handsome, rougher. About a hundred times more like a 'bad boy' than Nightwing could ever be; he can see why Rose likes this one. He can appreciate the white-streaked hair and the crooked grin too (he's always enjoyed getting to break down the confident, in control ones).

Jason swallows, still but slightly tense beneath his grip. Still searching for a way out, apparently. Not like a Bat to give in easily, after all.

"So do you sleep with everyone your kids are interested in," is the sarcastic comment, only slightly out of breath, "or am I special?"

"You would be the first," he admits in return, with an upwards twist of his lips. "Most of them have been fairly boring, I'll admit."

"So I _am_ special."

He chuckles. “I suppose you are. So how about it, Jason? Any other ideas floating around that head of yours?" Jason shifts beneath him, gaze flickering down to his lips, then lower. He lets his smile grow wider, and pushes just a little harder forward; as much as he can with the single leg bent between them. "What exactly _is_ it you've always wanted someone like me to do to you?"

The way that Jason's eyes go wide for a moment, breath drawing sharply in, tells him that whatever the fantasy is, it's a good one. The hard shudder, a moment later, backs it up. But then Jason's eyes squeeze shut for a brief second, and when they open it's paired with a small snarl; at odds with the heat in his eyes, but not unwelcome.

"You think I'm gonna make it that easy on you?" Jason growls, voice lower and deeper now, challenging in a way his earlier snarling wasn't. "You're going to have to do better than that, Slade; I'm not handing you a playbook."

 _Good_.

"Alright," he murmurs, letting himself ease down a bit into real focus. He hasn't felt challenged by a partner in a long time (maybe since Adelaide, though he can't quite recall), and he's missed the feeling. Similar to the enjoyment he gets from playing with Grayson, but that's never gone anywhere tangible. "I'll just have to experiment then."

He watches Jason's eyes darken a little more as he considers his next step, and reaches the conclusion that holding the boy up against the wall is fun, but not conducive to much more past this. There are better ways to pin him down that will offer more opportunity to play. (And maybe they can come back to the wall later.) As soon as he's decided on his next step, he moves.

Jason seems a little surprised when he steps back and lets go, letting him drop back to the floor, wobbling slightly from the delay of the second, folded leg coming down as his arms drop down from their pinned position as well. Before he's fully settled, Slade strikes. He ducks in low, pushes his shoulders into Jason's stomach with enough force to drive the air from him with a grunt, slides an arm around his waist, and _hefts_. Jason gives a startled yelp, hands scraping along the armor at his back as he's upended, slung over a shoulder like a particularly large sack.

He wraps his free arm over Jason's thighs to keep them pinned down to his chest as he turns around and strides towards the bed, accompanied by the music that is the mixed litany of cursing and gasped utterances of things like, "Not fair! Jesus, _fuck!_ Slade!"

It only takes him about a half-dozen seconds to cross the hotel room, and when he gets to the bed he drops his shoulder and _throws_ Jason onto it. It's a fairly decent effort (even his strength isn't quite built to toss around people of Jason's bulk), but well worth the way that Jason rolls once and then ends up on his back, eyes wide, arms splayed out. (His dick now _very_ visible against the thinner fabric of his sweat pants.)

He smirks and slides himself onto the bed as well, getting over Jason and bracing a hand up above one shoulder. "You didn't think I was going to be _fair_ , did you, boy?"

Jason's hands lift, settling firmly against his armor as though ready to push him away, even as his legs are opened wide around the thigh being notched between them. "I don't know; you talk a lot about _honor_ and all that shit. Me being in a damn t-shirt and sleeping pants, and _you_ being in full armor, doesn't seem real honorable to me. Only thing I'd do if I punched you was bruise my hand; it's not a level playing field even ignoring that you're part super-soldier."

It's a good point, and he's ready to concede it, when Jason adds, "What? You not sure you'll win without it, Slade? Need the armor to take the hit for you?" A silent snarl, and a light shove against his chest that pushes him back about an inch. "You not as tough as you claim?"

He holds Jason's gaze as he shifts down, ignoring the pressure at his chest as he layers himself over Jason, keeping himself held up by just a few inches. "Careful, boy," he murmurs, through his smile. "I might have to turn you over my lap if you're going to be a brat."

Jason's snarl curls wider, legs rising beneath his to brace properly against the bed, teeth baring as he curls slightly up off the sheets. "Just fucking _try it_."

"That sounds like another suggestion," he points out, before he moves.

A grab and _wrench_ to one shoulder jerks Jason onto his side, and a moment past that lets him press a hard hand to the now upper shoulder and pin his chest down, arms caught beneath him. Jason gives a grunt, squirming, legs kicking out, but a well placed leg across the back of his thighs pins that half down too. He takes a handful of Jason’s hair with his free hand, jerking his head back an inch to emphasis the hold — gets another strangled grunt for it — before he shoves it back down into the bed. Jason’s freed his arms now, and he can hear the snarl that precedes how he pushes at the bed, trying to build enough force to get his chest off the bed. One side actually works; the one that he isn’t holding down the shoulder of, though he has to lean some of his weight in to keep that one shoulder down.

Well, that’s just not going to do for what he has in mind.

He lets go — Jason _surges_ upwards underneath the sudden lack of resistance — and then grabs Jason’s lower arms in the next moment, pulling them backwards and crashing Jason back down into the sheets. It only takes a second to twist them together at the small of his back, and get one of his hands wrapped around both wrists. It won’t hold up to extreme thrashing, but he can hold Jason for long enough with the addition of his leg, which he slides down to be over calves instead of thighs. That, so he can pull Jason up and back, onto his knees but with his shoulders still to the bed without anything else to support him. It also happens to bring Jason’s ass up to just about the perfect height (functionally, getting Jason trapped over his lap would have been a trickier prospect).

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” is what he gets for his efforts, as Jason struggles and tests the half of a pin.

Since Jason can’t see it anyway, he makes no effort to restrain his smile, especially as he tugs down the sweatpants with his free hand until they’re pooled around Jason’s knees. He lifts his hand, using his teeth to disengage the clasps holding his glove in place. It might be more effective to keep it on, and keep the power disparity present between him and Jason, but he likes the physical feedback. (And, honestly, the first time he touches an ass like this, he should do it with his actual hand. There's a certain level of respect required for these kinds of thing, after all.)

"I think twenty-five," he comments, as he drops his glove to the bed. "One for every word of that little challenge of yours. Maybe that will calm you down a little."

"If you think this is going to make a fucking difference— _Ah!"_

It's not nearly as hard as he could have hit — wouldn't want to break the kid — but it's enough that the skin he's struck is somewhat reddened. He takes a moment to appreciate it then, sliding his fingers over the curves and down to the sensitive crease of thigh. Jason pulls against his grip, head turning against the bed, but doesn't get anywhere beyond shifting his ass beneath the fingers on it. A curse is hissed into the sheets, but his hearing isn't quite good enough to pick it up.

He only lets himself linger for a brief few moments before he removes his hand, shifting so he has a slightly better angle to strike. "I suppose that only leaves twenty-four."

"Smug _bastard_ ," Jason snarls, and this time it's turned enough away from the bed that he can hear it.

He smirks, and swings his hand again.

Jason flinches, but doesn't give him a sound. He takes it as a challenge, which he's sure is how it's meant. Maybe not intentionally, but when he's purposefully denied a reaction, in a game like this, how could it be anything _but_ a challenge? He'd love to hear Jason beg, though he's sure it'll take more than just this. Bats are tougher than that (and he's not going to hit _that_ hard).

Jason is faintly shaking by the time he hits the higher numbers, trembling against his grip and jolting with every strike, but the most he's earned is a couple strained groans. He's not surprised. Jason's skin is reddened, warmed, but nowhere near bad enough to draw more than that from someone with the pain tolerance of a Bat. That’s alright; he still has six to go, and he’ll get more before he’s done. His hits so far have been fairly uniform, so Jason’s already been lulled into a false sense of security. All it should take is to break the steadier levels of impact and hit a bit harder. Or somewhere a little more sensitive.

He eyes the strip of skin where thigh meets ass, letting his fingers graze over the heated skin above it in the meantime, as he debates the merits of hitting harder, or more precisely.

Apparently he takes long enough that Jason feels the need to jerk against him and twist his head to look back, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide but teeth flashing in a sneer. “What’s the matter, Slade? Hand getting tired?”

He meets the single eye that he can see from where he is, over the twisted angle of one shoulder. “Looking for more, Jason? If you want me to keep hitting you, all you have to do is mouth off. I’m sure you can manage that, can’t you, boy?” He smirks as Jason glares. “Or does that put you too much in control of fulfilling your own kink?”

“Oh _fuck_ you,” Jason snaps, squirming and twisting wrists against his grip.

He restrains a laugh, but does lean slightly forward so he can partially blanket Jason’s back as he comments, “I know, it’s _hard_ to take responsibility for your own enjoyment of being beaten, isn't it?”

This time the strike of his hand, favoring precision over strength for now, draws a sharp yelp from Jason. He watches the play of expressions on the boy's face, pain to pleasure to ease, as he strokes gentle fingers over the now increasingly sensitive skin at the very top of Jason's right thigh. It’s still enough to earn a tiny shiver. He thoroughly enjoys it.

“I think we should even that out, don't you?"

Jason inhales, sharply, but doesn't manage to say anything before his second blow comes down with a loud _crack_ of impact. It sounds worse than it is, but Jason still jolts forward and yelps again, neck twisting into a small arch, teeth gritting together. He pulls Jason right back the inch or so he'd managed to shift, debating leaning down to speak in an ear but settling for just chuckling instead; wouldn't want to delay his reaction time, in case Jason needs another punitive swat.

"So, would you rather hold your tongue and just take what you're already due?" he asks, sliding his fingertips over reddened skin. “Or do you want to keep running that mouth of yours, boy?”

Jason shifts, teeth gritted together and gaze fixed somewhere in the now rumpled sheets. No immediate answer comes, which is answer enough for him. After all, silence was one option that he presented.

“Only four to go,” he murmurs, firming his touch and sliding it up onto Jason’s lower back. “If you want more, you know what to do.”

That gets him a snarl, but still no actual response. He hides his smile behind a smirk, and shifts to get a better angle for his last strikes. These ones he’s going to make count; leave a lasting impression in more ways than one. He’d like to leave Jason with a few things to remember him by, and a bit of soreness might be just the thing. Later, he’ll see about getting around to leaving some real marks. He's sure Jason won't mind a few bruises, even if anyone who looks will be able to tell that teeth made them. Maybe he'll even appreciate them more because of it.

He pulls his hand away, pauses for just a moment, and strikes again. Harder than his last ones but aimed away from that sweet spot of sensitivity. The _crack_ is louder, and Jason gives a sharp, " _Ah!_ " just a fraction after as he lets his hand linger, letting the impact transfer deeper into the muscle beneath.

"Three."

Another strike to the opposite cheek, and a similar although slightly more strangled sound as result.

"Two."

"Stop _fucking_ counting," Jason snaps at him, which certainly sounds like mouthing off to him.

He lets his hand come forward, sharp and hard enough to make Jason jerk forward, and he does it a second time before the yelp has even fully died. Then a third, while Jason is still gasping in a breath that then immediately comes out a real shout, back arching a bit as if that will actually get him away. The redness is more pronounced now, and he lets his gaze slide over it as Jason gasps in a breath that he actually lets finish. It takes a few moments, this time, for Jason to ease backwards and out of the high tension he was driven to.

He lets the silence stay for a moment, and then repeats, "Two."

Jason gives a somewhat breathless, startled laugh. It almost sounds disbelieving, which pulls the corners of his own mouth up.

The last two he draws out, running his fingertips across reddened skin until Jason eases, and then hitting _hard_ to tense him back up. He counts the last one with a simple, "One," and Jason growls a protest but doesn't speak out against it.

He waits until the last remnant of Jason’s shout has faded, as he lightly cups the now heated cheek beneath his hand, before leaning down and pressing a small kiss to Jason’s lower arm. “There we are; all done. Right?”

Jason’s breathing a little harder than he was, mouth slightly parted, but the question gets him to look back. That blue-green eye stares at him for a couple moments, and then Jason gives a huff of laughter and a rough grin and just says, “You’re a real bastard, Slade.”

He smiles, leans a little more forward to press his lips to Jason’s shoulder instead. “I don’t remember claiming any different. So, ready for something a little more fun?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Alright, so part two of this purely self indulgent mess. XD Hope you enjoy!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

_"So, ready for something a little more fun?”_

Jason shifts, testing the grip Slade still has on both his wrists, gloved fingers now warm against his skin from all the contact. His ass _hurts_ , more than he's let on (and he wonders how much Slade's been able to tell), but also just about at the level that he likes, to start. If Slade keeps going he could take it, probably. As long as none of that enhanced strength comes into play, and as long as Slade keeps up this whole attitude. It's been… a long time since he's let anyone else treat him like this. Frankly, it's been a long fucking time since anyone _could_.

Roy and Kori have been great, but neither of them are as well trained as he is, and they can only hold him down if he allows it. There aren't many people that _can_ keep him down if he isn't restraining himself, and _yes_ , Rose was one of those people which was _awesome_ , but they just didn't fit, and he wasn't about to force it just to get his kink fulfilled. Talia could too, but she was too busy using him as a replacement for Bruce, so she didn't really want to be in control of him.

(On top of that, Kori and Roy are too _gentle_ to be alright with holding him down and forcing their own desires on him, even if he wants it. It would take a lot of serious, involved talks to convince them it's really what he wants, and probably some practice too. Jason… isn't that comfortable with baring himself quite that thoroughly.)

So although it's a fucking _world_ away from what Jason ever imagined himself doing, he's maybe more than alright with the fact that _Slade Wilson_ is pinning him down against the bed, ass in the air, having just beat him enough to leave him deliciously sore. It's… odd, but he's also maybe kinking a little on the fact that Slade is over twice his age and fucking _perfectly_ capable of knocking him on his ass whenever he wants. Having someone that can _actually_ beat him? That'll knock him down and pin him there, no matter what he tries? That's… arousing as all hell. And Slade's a long way from bad-looking; the older thing never struck him as his type, but, well…

He squirms, enjoying the press of Slade's leg down over his calves, the warmth and presence of Slade leaning down over his back, the bare hand cupping one side of his ass with gentle pressure. "I don't know," he hedges, teasing. "That was pretty fun; can you top it?"

There's a laugh, low and rough against his shoulder, and the tone is deep enough to make him fight back a shudder. "I haven't even started trying," Slade promises, squeezing his wrists together tight enough that it hurts for a fraction of a second at the apex of the grip. The casual display of strength _does_ pry the shudder from him, and Jason has to grit his teeth to not groan. "But if you were having fun, maybe I should just keep at this. Leave you with some good bruises back here, so you can remember me for the next week or so. I think you'd enjoy that."

Jason swallows, because yeah, he _would_. But still, he forces himself to say, "Doesn't seem like _you_ would. You get off on hitting people, Slade?"

Slade makes a sound, all too close to his ear, that's amused and dark. A moment later he's being pulled up by the grip on his wrists and a hand now firmly curled in his hair, dragging him up to balance on his knees, held in a small arch with Slade pressed up against his back. The armor is hard against him, especially where it grinds up against his sore ass, and he strangles down the sound that wants to escape him in response to both that and the hard grip in his hair. Slade hasn't figured out, yet, how much he likes having his hair pulled at, and he's not about to give up that knowledge for free.

"Only when they enjoy it," is Slade's answer, said straight into his ear. "But I was definitely planning on fucking you tonight; when I'm ready to."

"Trouble getting it up?" Jason snaps, without thinking about it.

Slade _bites_ his shoulder hard enough to make him yelp and squirm, but there's a dark, unfurling part of him that _loves_ the feeling.

"Careful, boy," Slade breathes into his ear, when the teeth let go. "You might be young, but I can out- _fuck_ you any day. Benefits of a super-soldier serum. Now, you need to choose, kid. Are you ready for something a little more fun, or should I bend you back down and get back to teaching you a little respect? I'm sure you can take a lot more than just the taps I've given you so far, can't you?" Jason opens his mouth, and Slade _jerks_ at his hair hard enough to rip a groan from his throat, forcing it into a backwards arch against his shoulder. "Direct answers only, kid. You say anything else, and I'll take it as a request to hit you a few more times. If you want to be _touched..._ well, you'll have to ask for it."

There's something unnerving, and incredible, about being put on the spot about what he actually _wants_. Being robbed of the defense of being able to tease and mouth off to a dom ( _not_ thinking of Slade as one) is weird, but there's something piercing about knowing that if he does anything but agree to move on to other things, then he's telling Slade to continue to hit him instead. That's… a lot of power in his hands, but also _none_. Slade is still entirely in control, and offering him only two choices. Move on, or bend back over so Slade can spank him some more.

As _good_ as that sounds, Jason's cock is hanging hard and heavy between his legs, and he wants to know what else Slade has planned tonight. (He wants to know if he can live up to the promises he's made.)

So he takes a slow breath, lets the ease from the spanking soften his voice, and offers, "More fun." Then, because he can't imagine _not_ trying to test Slade's limits, he tacks on a mocking, " _Please_."

Slade chuckles, and then growls a not-really-serious, "Brat."

Both hands shove him forward, and Jason isn't quite fast enough to get his hands in front of him before he crashes down into the bed. Luckily it's soft, and the most he gets is a mouthful of sheets and a slight bit of pain from coming down on his nose instead of anything more serious. He gets his hands under him in the next moment, but barely manages to push more than a few inches up before Slade's hands — hard and _big_ — press down against his back, pushing him back down into the streets with strength he _can't_ compete with.

His fingers curl into the sheets, as he considers what he has in terms of options here. The list comes up very, very short. Slade's stronger, faster, and lying face down with his pants around his knees is really not a great position for him to try competing with someone with advantages like that. If Jason could get to a better position… But he doesn't think Slade's going to let that happen anytime soon.

One of Slade's hands slides up his back, catching and dragging his shirt beneath fingertips that, as he finds out when they reach the back of his neck, are the still-gloved ones. Slade's hand is wide enough that his fingers press into the sides of Jason's neck when he tightens his grip, and maybe that feels good enough that Jason has to bite down on another groan. Slade presses down on the center of his back with the other hand, leg finally shifting off his calves but only to shove in between his legs, kneeling on the bunch of his pants and pretty thoroughly keeping him pinned.

"It would be simplest if you stayed put for me," Slade comments, squeezing the back of his neck, "but I suppose you're not going to do that, are you? And since tying you up would just be a little too easy, I guess I'm going to have to get creative. Unless you _want_ what I'm planning on, that is."

Jason presses his back up, testing the strength behind the hand on it. Too much for him to break, pinned like this; he can wait. "I'd have to know what you're planning," he points out, twisting his head against the bed until he can look up at Slade with one eye. "I'm sure as fuck not agreeing to anything like that until you spell it out."

Slade meets his gaze, mouth curling in a small smile. "No, of course not." The hand on his back eases, sliding down until it cups the curve of his ass, thumb sliding in to tease at the sensitive skin between his cheeks. "End goal? This, right here. But to do that, I have to work you open. I'd bet you have lube in here somewhere, but I'd have to find it, and doing that _while_ I keep you subdued could be… a challenge. So how about we make a temporary deal, kid?"

"A… deal?" Jason shifts, taking in a deeper breath now that Slade isn't compressing his lungs at all, and trying not to squirm at the warm, teasing pressure of the thumb against his hole. "Like _what?_ "

The hand on his ass slips down between his thighs, and Jason gives a low groan when it wraps around his cock, pushing his hips up a bit. Slade squeezes, lightly, and then murmurs, "You tell me where the lube is, you stay here while I get it, and you get to choose how much clothing I keep on."

That gets Jason to blink, a little bit confused, as he looks back again. How much… clothing? "What?"

Slade lets him go, but before he can take advantage of it Slade's leaning down into him, layering up along his back and his legs, mouth at his ear and armor pressed hard up against his barely-protected skin. "I have this suspicion that you'd enjoy it if I kept all this armor on," Slade whispers into his ear, voice low and drawling and his stomach goes tight just from the _tone_. "I think you'd like it if I stripped you down and _fucked_ —” Slade's hips roll down into his ass, grinding armor against his sore skin and forcing a gasp from him "—you just like that, kid. You like strength, and I think you like _power_ too."

Jason swallows, grips the sheet tighter as he fights the desire to push up against Slade's weight. He can't help the jerk though, when Slade nips at his earlobe just hard enough to sting, then hums amusement before there's the offer of, "So if you play nice for a minute, _boy_ , I'll let you pick how you want me. Otherwise… Well, then I guess I get to choose how I want you." Slade leans a little more heavily into him, nearly crushing him into the bed with just the weight, making him draw in a hard breath. "So, what do you say?"

The pressure doesn't let up, and Jason's breath is slightly strained, the air getting caught in his throat when Slade's teeth graze across it. " _Fuck_ ," he breathes, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, twisting beneath the press of Slade's bulk on top of him. "It's in the duffel bag," he manages, after a moment. "Inside pocket with the zipper."

Slade's mouth presses a kiss to the side of his neck, moving back up to his ear before he murmurs, "And are you going to stay right here for me, boy?"

Jason exhales a huff of laughter. " _No,_ but I'll stay on the bed. That good enough for you?"

"It's a deal," Slade agrees, voice tinged with amusement. Then, lower, "Now _stay_."

Jason shudders as Slade pushes away from him, sliding off the bed and padding across the room, towards the duffel bag he'd shoved into the corner upon arriving. He lifts himself up on his arms, pushing aside the arousal and the bit of haze because this is probably going to be his only chance to not be totally at Slade's mercy, and the first step of that is not being hobbled by his own damn pants.

Slade kneels down to open the bag as Jason reaches down, shoving his pants the rest of the way down and then kicking them off so they're left somewhere on the floor. Granted, being naked from the waist down isn't much less vulnerable feeling, but it does at least make him free in a purely physical sense, and that's a good place to start. He's starting to think that maybe Slade is walking the edge of the line he drew in the sand. No restraints, not really, but trapping him in his own clothing? That seems to be free game, and in _that_ case…

Jason strips his shirt off, throwing that off to the side too, at the same time that Slade straightens up and turns back around. The eyebrow over the still working eye rises, and Slade's words come through a smirk as he teases, "A little eager, hm?"

"I'm not giving you any more weapons than what you've already got," he corrects, shifting so he's up on his knees, as Slade approaches. There's no way he _wins_ a grappling fight, but it'll feel _good_ regardless, and this encounter is nothing if not selfish. "I don't much appreciate being hobbled."

Slade gives a small shrug, and tosses the half-used bottle of lube to the bed beside him. "If you say so. So have you made a decision, boy? About your half of the deal?"

Oh, right, _fuck_. No, he definitely hasn't. He— Well…

He really _does_ like the idea, now that Slade's brought it up the _bastard_ , of having that clear, physical mark of power difference between them, and he'd be lying if he tried to deny that having all that armor pressing up against him wasn't great. But, he also really _likes_ being able to touch his partners in turn, and Slade being in that suit means that he's not going to get to feel any of that skin against his, or be able to tease what skin he can get his hands on. He likes both options. Maybe…

"I've got a question first."

That's a sharp flash of interest in Slade's eye, and he moves forward, one knee pressing to the bed in front of him to put them at a more even height (and give Jason a serious sense of being _hunted_ , which actually probably isn't all that inaccurate). "Shoot, kid."

Jason swallows, but lifts his chin and holds Slade's gaze as best he can anyway. "Is this a one-time sort of a thing, or is there a chance we go again afterwards?"

Slade's mouth curls into that nearly wicked smile that Jason's been _way_ too attracted to this whole night, and drawls, "You think you can handle two rounds with me, _boy?_ "

"You think you can _manage_ two rounds, _old man?_ " he says right back, baring his teeth and letting his shoulders rise as he faces Slade down. Baits him. "I'd hate to be disappointed if you cracked a hip trying."

Instead of striking out at him, instead of any violent move he can think of, Slade just laughs. Low, _dangerous_ , and god help him but his breath catches at the sound. "Yeah," is the answer, as Slade reaches forward, curling fingers around the back of his neck and tugging him forward an inch, "I can do this all night if you think you can handle it, Jason. It's been awhile since anyone thought they could keep up with me; I'll be interested to see how you measure up to all these claims you're making. I want to see if I can make you beg before I'm done with you."

Jason can't even begin to help how he has to swallow again, his breath coming out just a bit shaky, his fingers curling in the sheets. "So come _make_ me," he snaps, and he can see Slade's gaze darken in reaction.

"Tell me what your choice is," Slade demands, voice as low as his laugh was, now. "Armor, or skin, kid?"

This time, Jason knows what he wants. "Armor," he admits, feeling his voice crack just a bit at the word. " _Make_ me feel it, Slade, if you can manage that."

Slade gives Jason just a moment to see the _promise_ in his eye and his smile before he strikes. The hand on his neck lets go, and Jason draws a breath and starts to turn to look, but then it's closing around the front of his throat instead and bearing him backwards. If Slade had slammed him into a wall with the same force he slams him back into the bed, he'd have lost all his breath at the absolute least. As it is, the air pushes out of his lungs and he has to gasp in a new breath, which is a little bit hard with Slade's fingers tight against his throat, compressing his airway.

He grabs for Slade's wrist, gets a hand on it, but there's only the thick material of the glove and then the even harder feel of armor, and his nails don't have anywhere to find real purchase, let alone do any damage. He chokes, and then Slade is dragging him forward and off the bed. His feet barely have time to find the ground before he's being spun around and shoved down again, and the intention becomes real clear as his knees hit the ground and his torso is pressed down against the bed. The fingers leave his throat, but only to settle at the back of his neck and pull him farther up onto the bed, till his hips are pressed firmly against the side and, thanks to the height of it, his knees are just barely off the ground, weight more firmly supported by his toes.

"That's better," Slade says, voice still low but more amused now. Jason squirms, growling muffled curses into the sheets pressed against his face as he reaches back to try and dig his fingers into Slade's wrist, but it's _still_ the gloved one. Slade gives a small laugh, otherwise ignoring the scrape of his nails across the glove and the suit. "You're not going anywhere till I let you, kid, and I'm not planning on doing that till I'm good and ready. Now, legs apart, boy."

Jason growls with as much feeling as he can manage, given his somewhat breathless state and the fact that every time he squirms it rubs his cock against the side of the bed. _Fuck_ , that's good. "Not folding over for you."

The hard _smack_ of skin against his ass maybe shouldn't startle him, but it does. He yelps more out of surprise than pain, jolting forward. Slade's hand lingers against the sensitive, just-struck curve of his ass, and he can't help the shiver, or how he arches just a tiny bit beneath the touch. It hurts just enough that he instantly wants _more_.

"Your choice," Slade tells him, hand leaving his ass. Jason braces for another hit, but instead there's the snap of the bottle of lube being opened, and he draws in a shallow breath and has to fight away another shiver. Yeah, alright; that's a step he's good with.

He feels the bed dip slightly as weight settles onto the bed at his left hip, and twists his head around to look. Slade's got one knee on the bed beside him, adding more balance to how he's leaning, though none of the weight has come off the grip at the back of Jason's neck because of it. _But_ , now he might be able to reach something on that leg; maybe find a weak spot that he can worry at to at least have something to work towards instead of just lying here.

With that in mind, he shifts until he can push his arm down, reaching for that armor-covered knee and all the theoretical weaknesses in it that he can exploit. He hears the cap to the bottle snap shut again as his fingers touch the armor, and then Slade's fingers are tightening on his neck, threatening to bruise as slick fingers push between his cheeks. Jason has to give a small grunt, his jaw clenching at the ache of that grip, even as Slade rubs fingers over his hole and then inexorably slides one into him. He curls the fingers of his free hand into the sheets, and spread his other hand out to feel for any grooves or catches on Slade's leg.

Then, in a sharp flash of movement, Slade's knee lifts, slips away from his hand, and comes back down on his wrist. He winces at the pressure, trying to squirm his wrist out from underneath the weight of it, but Slade just presses harder downwards.

"No, I don't think so, kid." Slade sounds amused instead of irritated, and normally Jason would be pissed off at anyone laughing at him like that, but in this _particular_ case… "Most people would have given up at this point, you know."

Jason twists, caught between the slide of his cock against the bed and the press of Slade's finger. "You know damn well I'm not _most_ people," he counters, digging his toes in against the carpet, trying to get enough leverage to do… well, anything. About all he manages is to clench down around Slade's finger, which doesn't stop the movement of it, just makes him more aware of how it slides against him. He can still move his legs, but there's nothing he can _do_ with them from this angle.

Slade chuckles, fingers squeezing his neck for just a moment before easing up. "No, kid, you're definitely not." The hand on his neck slides up, fingers curling through his hair and gripping tight enough that it starts to sting. "Now, earlier, I noticed a fun little reaction."

"Yeah?" he asks, somewhat against his better judgement.

Slade hums confirmation, and then _yanks_ at Jason's hair.

The breathy cry that's ripped from his chest is undeniably pleasure, and he couldn't disguise that even if he'd had any time to actually try. He sucks in a breath, his back arching to ease the angle of his neck, hand pressing hard against the bed to try and take some of his weight. It helps the strain on his neck and shoulders, but Slade's grip stays tight enough in his hair that even as he arches back, it doesn't loosen. Pain, at the back of his skull, that aches just sharply enough that it makes his lips pull back in a silent snarl, mouth parting slightly in a gasp.

"That's the one," Slade murmurs, giving a small, pulling tug at his hair. "Now that's a good start, don't you think? But I think you've got better sounds in you than that."

A second finger joins the one inside him, stretching him open with that same unyielding strength, and Jason gasps a sharp, " _Fuck_. Slade. _Slade_."

There's another hard tug at his hair, sending sparks down his spine as he arches, shoving up with his hand in an instinctive attempt to get high enough to neutralize the pain. Not that he's even sure he _wants_ that, and not that he gets to choose. Slade shoves him down again, pushing his face into the bed as the two fingers twist and push inside him. He gives a muffled moan, and Slade makes a pleased sound in return and pulls at his hair until his head is dragged from the sheets, neck arched but shoulders still against the bed. His next moan comes out free, and loud enough he's almost embarrassed by it. ( _Christ_ , but no one's satisfied his kinks like this in a _long_ time.)

Jason shoves his hand out against the sheets, curling into them to try and find purchase before he reaches back instead, getting his hand around Slade's wrist. No matter how good it feels, or how fucking _hard_ he's getting, he's not about to just lie here and take it. That's not who he is; Slade hasn't gotten him to that point yet.

He digs his fingers into the glove, closing his eyes and trying to focus past enough of the sensation that he can feel out how the glove is connected, and how to get it off. If he can get it off, he can get at Slade's skin, and then he's got nails and an extensive knowledge of sensitive pressure points that can at least get him free of _one_ hold. He just has to _focus,_ and fuck, if Bat training is good for anything it _has_ to be good for this. Focusing past distracting sensation; he can do that.

He grits his teeth, sliding his fingers across the glove to find the catches, because there _have_ to be catches. The other one came off easily enough, so this one should be just as relatively simple if he just looks. It'll just take a bit of—

"I see what you're doing, kid," Slade breaks in, wrist twisting away from his touch and simultaneously pulling his head back a little further. "Knock it off, or I'll have to stop you myself."

Jason manages a snort, as his fingers find a catch and pull at it, clicking it open and making the glove slip a little bit beneath his touch. "If you really think telling me _stop_ is going to do anything than you've underestimated me."

That gets a small laugh. His fingers find the second clasp, pull it loose, and he grins and claws for the strip of skin he knows is revealed. Except that Slade is letting go of his hair, hand pulling away too quick for Jason to manage to do any damage. He twists to follow the movement, trying to match that enhanced reaction speed as he pushes off the bed. Or, tries to.

Slade's suddenly bare hand wraps around his forearm, and Jason crashes back down as it's yanked out from under him, twisted up his back until his shoulder protests and it wrenches a groan from his chest. He buries his grimace in the sheets, shifting and then immediately stilling as Slade pushes his arm just a little bit higher. Too high. That's pushing the edge of what he can take.

"That _hurts_ ," he gasps, twisting his head enough to make sure the complaint isn't muffled.

Slade makes an acknowledging, condescending noise from above him, grip not loosening even the slightest bit. "I did warn you," is pointed out, and then, finally, his arm is allowed to lower a couple inches. "I told you, kid, fight me and you'll lose. Now, do you want to try kicking me too?" He can't see it from this angle, but Jason can easily imagine the smirk that accompanies the drawled, "Go ahead, I'll _wait_."

"Son of a bitch," he snarls, twisting the wrist that's still pinned beneath Slade's knee. And _still_ not going anywhere.

He's got… He's got nothing. He can't reach anything in the very limited movement of his hands or his mouth, his legs are too long and Slade is too close to _actually_ manage anything, and he's not getting out of the pins Slade's holding him in anytime soon. He'd have to really _fight_ to get loose from any of this, to the point of risking serious injury, and that's outside of the realm of this play. He's… _Fuck_ , he's really been defeated. Completely, fairly, defeated, and without even bending the rules they'd started out with. No restraints. No weapons. Just Slade being _better_ than he is.

He shudders, attention drawn down to the points of contact between Slade. The hard grip of fingers on his arm, the weight of the knee on his wrist and hand, and the slide of the other fingers inside of him, crooking down and just barely grazing his prostate with every pass. It's not direct or hard enough pressure to really affect him, but it's a sharp little edge to the stimulation of the rest of the nerves, and Jason finds his mouth parting, his hips pushing up into the touch as he's forced to really pay attention to it. Even in that, he doesn't have much leverage. He has to curl his toes into the carpet and push to manage lifting his hips, and he can only get them up a couple inches.

The fingers scissor wide inside him, stretching him open as he gives another groan, curling the hand pinned to his back into a fist. " _Fuck_ ," he hisses, and Slade's thumb slides against the skin of his arm in a small circle, almost comforting.

"When I'm done here," Slade murmurs, as a third finger pushes in beside the others (almost too much, but not _quite_ ), "I'm going to fuck you hard enough to get you to cry out for me, kid. See, grinding confident, trouble making boys like you down until I can make you _sing?_ That's my very favorite part of games like these."

Jason strangles down a moan, unsure whether it's the sensation or the words that cause it. Then, when he's sure he's in no danger of accidentally voicing it, he twists his head enough to bare his teeth and mock, "You missed the boat on that one, old man. I haven't been a bird in a long time."

Slade gives a huff of laughter. "I was thinking more along the lines of playing an instrument, but I suppose that's another way to see it."

He can’t quite stop himself from snorting, pressing his forehead into the bed to vent the urge to move. The only ways he can move are going to make him look eager for this, and he _is_ but that’s not the _point_. “Not your damn violin,” he says instead, and even manages to make his voice a little stronger than the breathy thing it really wants to come out as.

“I’m more partial to drums. I have a fondness for hitting things to produce sound.”

For a second, Jason can only gape, and then a bark of laughter escapes him as he shakes his head. “You fucking _liar_. You said that just to make that stupid joke didn’t you?”

“Perhaps,” is all Slade offers, though there’s a curl of amusement to his tone that practically confirms it, as far as Jason is concerned.

“You’ve been spending way too much time around Dick if you’re making jokes that _lame_.” He flashes a grin, sure Slade can see at least the side of it, and adds, “It does fit the whole ‘grandpa’ look though. All you need’s a cane and a rocking chair.”

That actually pulls a laugh from Slade, and he can _just_ see how Slade shakes his head, mouth curled in a small smile. There’s a distinctly mocking edge to it when Slade says, “Mind your elders, or I’ll have to put you over my knee again, _boy_.”

Which _should not_ be hot, but Jason feels that little swell of heat join the rest of all of it in the pit of his stomach anyway. “You never put me over your knee to begin with,” he points out, trying to bulldoze right over that maybe-too-honest reaction.

“You’re right,” Slade admits, and the fingers in him shove deep, out of rhythm, curling and finding his prostate with unerring precision. Jason sucks in a sharp breath, back curving into the small arch that it can underneath Slade’s pin, his feet shoving against the carpet. “I think I had you just about like this. All I’d have to do is pull these out—” Slade’s fingers slip backwards, resting only shallowly inside of him “—and hit you with them instead, and it would be just about the same.”

Jason grits his teeth together at the way that Slade’s fingers twist inside him, pull slightly apart to stretch him wide and maybe he hadn’t quite fully appreciated that Slade’s fingers are thick and just as unforgivingly strong as the rest of him, but now he does. He squirms, not able to move much but he’ll take that over not moving at all.

Slade makes a sound of amusement, and the fingers push back into him, resuming their rhythm. “ _Tempting_ , but I think I’d rather just fuck you. You go ahead and run your mouth, kid; I have you right where I want you and we both know it."

Jason shivers, trying not to let his teeth come apart because he's sure he'll moan. But Slade forces a gasp from him and the moan comes out anyway, making his enjoyment of all this a little more obvious than he'd like. Which is why he forces himself to say, "I don't know, I think I might be a little too low for you to get anything done. Not a great height for someone tall; I'd know."

"Would you now?" Slade counters, fingers pushing a little harder for a moment. "Somehow I can't quite imagine you taking someone over the edge of the bed. Being taken, perhaps."

"Hey, just because _you're_ not seeing it doesn't mean that I can't be dominant at all," Jason snaps over his shoulder. "You're _really_ not my usual kind of partner."

"I imagine not. There would have to be others like me for you to be sleeping with them regularly after all." There's an implied 'and there's not' sitting at the end of the sentence that Jason hears loud and clear, and he snorts and twists his head enough to catch sight of Slade out of the corner of his eye.

"That's sort of on the unflattering edge of arrogant," he points out, and Slade's mouth curves into a small smile.

_Weight_ presses down onto his wrist and his back as Slade leans over him, driving a grunt from his lungs, before Slade murmurs, "Go on then. Who's like me, boy? Name someone."

Jason finds himself drawing a hard blank, first at 'incredibly dangerous, competent mercenaries,' and then again at 'people strong, capable, and willing enough to keep him held down.' "Okay, that's not— That's not the fucking point," is all he manages to come back with. "Just because I can't think of anyone off the top of my head, while you've got most of your fingers buried in me, doesn't mean that they don't exist. I am perfectly capable of finding some fuck-buddy somewhere that can do this."

He doesn't really believe a word of it, and by the way Slade hums and pushes back up and off of him, he doesn't either. (Because putting himself in the hands of anyone dangerous enough to hold him down is putting his _life_ in their hands, and it means having to trust someone enough for that. Heroes are easier to trust, but pretty much anyone on the hero side is probably too kindhearted to hit and _hurt_ and _push_ him like he wants. Damnit.)

"If you say so," is Slade's answer, and Jason's not deaf enough to miss the condescension in it. "There we are; looks like you're all ready."

Jason shudders, hard, when the fingers slide out of him. Clenching down is automatic, not that it does much of anything with no one there to actually be keeping out. In fact, he pretty definitely wants someone _in_ , though he's sure as hell not about to say that out loud. Slade can think what he wants, but Jason is _not_ begging for this. He's not that desperate and he's not that ground down. Not yet, anyway. (Though if Slade can change that… Well, the thought tightens his throat and his gut in equal measure, and he tries not to go down that rabbit hole of _wanting_.)

"So what now? Since we've established that this is the wrong height for you, how are you planning on—”

He doesn't get to finish his baiting. Slade's knee slides off his wrist and the hand around his arm pulls up, and he's getting dragged up to his feet, shoulder protesting the twist of it after being pinned for awhile. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, and Slade spins him around and half shoves, half drives him across the room. He's expecting it, given it's the only thing in their path, but he still grunts and winces when Slade slams him up against the wall, kicking his legs apart with one booted foot and pressing between them to keep it that way. It's… better than he's going to admit, maybe ever.

Slade's weight presses into his back, breath hot against his ear and the side of his forehead, and Jason feels that little thrill in his stomach lift higher at the reminder that Slade is actually _taller_ than him. _Bigger_ than him. It's not like that's something he actually needs, but having it on top of Slade being able to literally throw him around and manhandle him is… really fucking nice. Jason's maybe figuring out a few more angles to this particular kink he has, and there's a distant part of him that's pretty sure that this is going to be _really_ hard to find again.

Which means that he should enjoy it while he has it.

He bares his teeth as he hears what sounds a lot like a zipper, his free hand pressing hard against the wall and curling his nails against it. His other hand is still being held at his back, but the angle is less now; his shoulder barely hurts, and he actually has a bit of freedom to move around. Or he would, if Slade didn't have him against the wall, legs spread wide. At least he's got his feet firmly under him this time; if he could get out of Slade's grip, maybe he could even manage a decent fight this time. (The rest of his mind, the more practical and less adrenaline-high side, laughs at the thought. Slade's in full _armor_ ; he hasn't got a chance.)

"Come full circle, huh?" he taunts, shifting against the wall, scraping his nails along it as he looks over his twisted shoulder. "You going to go back to threatening me too?"

Slade laughs, and it's low and _right_ next to his ear and Jason sucks in a breath at the sound, unprepared for the dizzying spike of arousal that lances up his spine. Instead of answering, Slade just presses closer, armor pressing against him, heat, and— Jason can't quite help but yelp at the sudden long, hard thrust that sheathes Slade inside him, his back arching and his head falling back. It doesn't _hurt_ , but it's sudden and a little surprising and _god_ , it's fucking _good_.

Teeth graze over his throat, bite down, and he exhales in a sudden rush, shuddering. "Fuck," he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. "God, _fuck_."

There's a muffled hum of amusement before Slade's teeth let go. "That's the idea, kid."

The hand on his arm lets go, and he barely has time for it to come back to a more natural position before that hand has lowered to grab his thigh instead, dragging his leg up and off the ground and leaving him to hastily brace his hands against the wall to keep his balance. He gives a choked, breathless sound as Slade guides his leg to wrap, backwards, around one armored thigh, keeping it held up in that position with one firm hand gripping just above his knee. It forces him to tense, and that drives another choked sound from him as he inadvertently tightens around Slade's cock, making it feel even bigger than it already did.

Slade gives a low groan, hips rocking against his ass. He can feel the heat of skin right next to the bite of armor, and he digs his nails into the wall, clenching his jaw as he fights back a sound that threatens to come out as a whimper. Slade's other hand touches his back, sliding up his spine in one firm stroke, pressing him into the wall before settling around the back of his neck.

"Tight little boy," is murmured against his ear. "Enjoying my cock, kid?"

Jason can feel a faint tremble shake his shoulders, and he swallows away the whimper so he can retaliate, "Need to get your eyes checked, Slade. I haven't been 'little' in a long fucking time." His voice still comes out low, husky, but he'll take that over whimpering or begging. "Gonna have to do a lot better if you want me to praise your _dick_ , old—”

Slade cuts him off with a sharp thrust and he yelps, his hips pressing hard into the wall in turn. He has to fight the urge to rut up against it, mentally growling to himself that it's a fucking _wall_. A thigh or a bed, maybe, but he's sure as hell not going to let his stupid body try and fuck a wall.

"Is that right?" Slade pushes up against him, hand sliding up to grab his hair as he's crushed into the wall by armor and weight and _strength_. The tug to his hair, arching his neck back against Slade's shoulder, pries a groan from between his teeth. "Then let's do _better_ , hm?"

None of that pressure goes away, but Slade's hips roll, fucking into him in a smooth slide that sets his nerves alight. Jason squirms, taking in a breath that's slightly restricted by how hard he's being pressed into the wall (and the only slightly less unforgiving surface of Slade trapping him against it), pushing his eyes open. Immediately he comes face to face with Slade's gaze, blue eyes watching him with focused intent. A hard flush takes his cheeks at the slide of the next thrust, and the knowledge that Slade is _watching_ him. Not just his body, but his expression.

"See— See something you like?" he mocks, though the breathlessness and the husk to his voice betray him.

Slade's smile is a slow, curling thing that bares a hint of teeth and is wickedly satisfied. "Oh, yes," is the low answer, and it's punctuated by a hard, deep thrust that makes Jason yelp again, twisting against the weight of Slade's not-really-a-pin. "Give in, kid," is the whispered command, as Slade sets up a real, hard rhythm. Not as fast as Jason was expecting, but that hardly matters with the depth and the force behind it. It's fast _enough_. "Show me what that looks like."

He shudders, nails scraping across the wall as he tries to vent how _deep_ those words sink into his chest. "As if," he spits, which is about all he can manage and be sure that it's not going to be interrupted with a moan or something even more embarrassing.

Just to be contrary, he drags one hand off the wall and reaches back, trying to get his hand on the wrist of the one that's tight in his hair. He persists even when Slade tugs hard at his hair, dragging a breathy sound of pleasure from him, and he manages to get a grip and dig his nails into the vulnerable skin. They're too blunt to do much damage, but he tries anyway.

Instead of the reaction he's expecting, Slade just chuckles against his throat and then bites him, _hard_. He cries out, but it dies in a hard exhale as Slade shoves him even harder into the wall, driving the air from his lungs. He can feel the armor grinding against his back, and there's a distant part of his mind, past the part occupied with all the _sensation_ , that purrs at the thought that he'll definitely have bruises later. It isn't until Slade lets go of the bite, but not the pressure, that Jason realizes he's stopped trying to draw blood on Slade's wrist. And he… doesn't start up again.

"You're a hell of a piece of work, kid," Slade breathes into his ear, as he pants for breath, trying not to moan too often or too loud. "You can't win. Let _go_."

Jason shudders, his other hand flattening out to press hard against the wall, his breath coming out hard and it all feels so damn _good_. He squeezes his eyes shut, gritting his teeth for a moment to try to get control and he— he _can't_. He feels caught beneath the sensation, overwhelmed by it, and he shakes even harder for a moment at the rush of it all. His lips part, and a breathless, desperate sound escapes him without his permission.

"That's it." Slade speeds up just a bit, making him all but _writhe._ "That's it, Jason. Sing for me."

"I— I _can't_. Fuck, _Christ_ , I—”

" _Let go_ ," Slade demands, almost in a growl. "Let me _have_ you, kid."

Jason tenses, breath catching in his throat, feeling strung tight like the cord that's all that stands between a neat swing and a messy end on the pavement. Then, all at once, he snaps.

His hand drops away from Slade's wrist, jaw relaxing as his mouth opens, eyes slitting open to escape the darkness beneath his lids, his back arching as much as it can beneath Slade's weight as he cries out at the next hard shove of hips. One, two, three, and he hadn't even realized he was that damn close but suddenly he's aware of the blazing need in his veins, and the certainty that if he gets just a little more, a little _faster_ , he'll be done.

" _Slade_ ," he gasps, neck arching further back with a pull of his hair. "I— I—”

"I know," Slade says, and it's distant enough that he's drawn to look, to find Slade watching him again. The expression looking down at him is one of need, of _desire_. "Show me, kid. Give me all of it."

Jason trembles, isn't sure what Slade even _wants_ from him, but the thrusts speed up just that last little bit and he loses track of the thought as he gives a cry, fingers digging into the wall. He sucks in a breath, Slade tugs at his hair, and he finds himself drawing tight enough that he shakes, his eyes fluttering as he starts to soar. He's aware of making a choked, high sound, and then it all comes loose and he yells as it crashes through him, hips jerking against the wall as he comes.

He doesn't really come down again. Some of the pressure comes off his chest, and he can hear Slade grunting and muttering low curses against his neck, but he stays floating up in the high of sensation and pleasure, his whole body still humming. He's in no rush to come back to all the rest of the world, not with the delicious slide of Slade still fucking him.

Eventually Slade stills, moaning into his shoulder, and Jason shudders at the feeling of it, his breath catching. Slade slowly lets go of his leg, letting it come back down to the ground, at the same time as the fingers in his hair slide free, hand sliding down his shoulder instead to curl around his upper arm. Jason blinks his eyes open, but then Slade is pulling out of him and he can only groan.

He blinks a little more, coming slightly back to awareness, as Slade suddenly just _picks him up_ , carrying him across the room.

"What—?" he gets out, a little blearily, before he's being laid out on the bed.

Slade smirks down at him, thumb sliding over Jason's lips before he leans down and murmurs, " _Stay._ "

That gets him to swallow, but he does stay still as Slade pulls back away, moving away from him. He half-watches as Slade strips out of his armor, revealing planes of hard, mildly scarred muscle and patches of white, curling hair on his chest and at his crotch. There's a lighter dusting across his arms and legs, but Jason finds himself mostly interested in the thicker patches, especially as Slade comes back to him, slipping onto the bed and lying down at his side. He blinks, but lets Slade cup the side of his face and tilt his head over till it rests against his lower shoulder, Slade propped up on that same arm and looking down at him.

It takes a minute for him to find his words underneath the stroke of fingers down his chest, tracing scars and the curves of his own muscle. When he does, he manages a rough, "I'm pretty sure I didn't sign up for aftercare service."

Slade gives an amused smile, fingers sliding up to cup his neck and tilt his jaw up a bit, until he meets Slade's gaze. "Are you complaining?"

Slowly, he decides, "No."

"Then hush, kid. Enjoy."

He swallows, feeling the light press of Slade's hand against his throat. "You go nice on all of your fucks when you're done with them?"

Slade chuckles. "Who said I was done with you?"

That implication draws a shiver from him, and he shifts against the bed, feeling the ache of used muscles and forming bruises and giving a low groan. He hasn't felt quite this used in a long time, and he's not sure he's _ever_ had somebody actually make him break like that. "So you're just nice to the people you want to fuck again?"

Slade shakes his head, but he's still smiling. "You're definitely a handful, kid."

"Pretty sure I'm more than _just_ a handful. I'm at _least_ two."

Slade's hand slips up, clasping over his mouth as Slade leans down towards him. " _Hush_ , or I really will have to spank you again, boy."

Jason waits until the hand slips away again before he licks his lips and murmurs, "Promise?"

* * *

When he gets back to the island, two days later, Jason still feels mildly high on the remnants of his night with Slade. He's definitely got the bruises to show for it, and he's _really_ thankful that his job was an easy one this time cause otherwise he might have had some problems concentrating enough to get it done.

He drops his bag off in his room and heads out to the main area, where Roy is sprawled out on the couch tinkering with something that looks distinctly weapon-like and Kori is floating near the ceiling with an open book. Almost on autopilot, Jason circles around to push Roy's legs out of the way and take the other end of the couch, stretching out his legs and tilting his head back against the cushions.

Kori offers a bright, "Welcome back!" and Roy echoes something similar but more distracted.

Instead of answering, Jason opens his mouth and lets the words his mind is circling around just drop right out.

"I had kinky, fucked up sex with Deathstroke."

Roy drops whatever it is he's working on with a clatter of metal, and Jason tilts his head to look over and make sure it's not about to explode as Roy hisses a curse and flails for it, more carefully setting it on the coffee table and then pushing up to really look at him. "You did _what_ now?"

Maybe it's that he still feels a little high, but he only has a little more trouble saying it the second time. "I had rough, kinky sex with Deathstroke," he repeats, a little slower. "I kind of figured you guys should know, before you ask about the bruises."

Roy blinks, gaze lowering to his neck, then to where his wrists are visible past the end of his jacket. "Okay, so… How did that happen?"

"He came looking to give me a shovel talk about Rose," is the honest answer, and Roy stares at him a little harder. Kori comes down, book closing as she takes a seat on the arm of the couch.

"Was it fun?" she asks, with a smile.

Jason lets out a breath, and then admits, "Yeah. Very."

The smile brightens. Kori leans down, presses a kiss to his forehead, and simply says, "Good. I am glad you enjoyed yourself, Jason."

Roy straightens up a little more, as Kori pushes Jason over and settles in between him and the arm of the couch, opening her book again. "Alright, so sex with Deathstroke; that's honestly probably not the worst thing any of us have done."

Jason snorts. Then, feeling reckless, he lets the other thought that's been spinning in his head come loose.

"I think I'm going to do it again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)


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